In Place 41

 41

Year round, here, she can make
yard tea; always something green:
fir needles, blackberry leaves, nettles --
easier in high summer





Hiding from the westering sun, she hangs shades from the eaves.

Yunyan was boiling some tea. Daowu asked who he was making it for. Yunyan answered, "nobody special."
-- Soto Zen Ancestors in China, Mitchell, 72.

In Place 40

40

Horses and bison tread
past her south window at dawn;
she pulls back the east shade.
how many days without sun?





The few mornings the old woman has awakened at the hut instead of the house have been notable for a certain quiet sublimity, especially in winter, with the small creek roaring nearby. One could say that in the exurbs one can experience something of what Chinese hermits go to remote mountains for, but then, one should be able to practice anywhere without making distinctions, yes?

By blue waters, in green hills are places to stroll quietly; near valleys, under trees are places for clearing the mind. Beholding impermanence, do not ignore it, for it encourages the mind to search the Way.
-- Keizan, "Instructions on How to Do Pure Meditation" (tr. Nearman)

In Place 39

39

She has worn a path
deep enough to feel her way
with feet on glassed grasses:
ice on gate awakens her





In frost, the path is reliable, but in rain, its heavy clay slickens. She carries small flat stones, and when her foot slides, she drops one in that spot and tamps it in with her heel: slowly a cobblestone way is established.


All night, a gentle rain fills the darkness outside
My long years of hard travel are over at last
-- Ryokan in Great Fool: Zen Master Ryōkan: Poems, Letters, and Other Writings 140 (Abé and Haskell, tr.)
 

In Place 38

38

She stays some nights, by
lamplight studying, or in
bed, watching the moon
stray among bare branches






I don't let white clouds leave the valley lightly
I escort the moon as far as my closed gate
Han-shan Te-ch'ing in The Clouds Should Know Me By Now 120 (tr. Red Pine)

 

In Place 37

 37

Bison have moved south
across the snow to accept
farmers' delivered hay;
no geese fly, no starlings chat





The hut’s large windows permit close observation of the life cycles of one’s plant and animal neighbors. One comes to realize there is no separation.

If we think, “I am here and the mountain is over there,” that is a dualistic way of observing things.
--Shunryu Suzuki, Branching Streams Flow in the Darkness 28.

In Place 36

36

Atop her desk, "one who listens
to the cries of the world" rests
in emptiness, yet serves to salve
inner and outer wounds





A friend donated a statuette of Avalokiteshvara, or Guanyin (Jp. Kannon), the bodhisattva who “hears the cries of the world.” It’s evidently a mass market copy of the great (2m height) Song Dynasty Guanyin currently on display in the National Museum of China, Beijing. The pose is Royal Ease, and Guanyin appears to be teaching while holding a lotus-flower wish-fulfillment jewel. Above the statuette on the wall there is a framed copy of the Heart Sutra; to the left there is a framed enso or empty circle from one of the series of the “Ten Ox-Herding Pictures (Ox and Ox-Herd Both Gone Out of Sight)." To the right is a framed photograph of the memorial statue of Mugai Nyodai (1223-1298), first abbess in Japanese Zen, who is said to have burned her face with a hot iron in order to be accepted to live and study among male monks.

With nothing to attain, a bodhisattva relies on prajnaparamita, and thus the mind is without hindrance. Without hindrance, there is no fear.
-- Avalokiteshvara in the Heart Sutra.

In Place 35

 35

Sun slants across the room
differently each day; sometimes her
young friend (who points to the earth) shines
but sometimes darkness holds him





Sun strikes the young man on the altar mostly in winter. At the height of summer he reposes in shade. There is no hindrance; light and its absence require each other to make one universe.

In darkest night it is perfectly clear; in the light of dawn it is hidden.
It is a standard for all things; its use removes all suffering.
Although it is not constructed, it is not beyond words.
Like facing a precious mirror; form and reflection behold each other.
-- Dongshan, "Song of the Precious Mirror Samadhi" in Taishō shinshū daizōkyō (1924-33) reprinted in Hongzhi, Cultivating the Empty Field, 2000, tr. Leighton and Yi Wu

In Place 34

 34

the waterfall that runs in winter
runs, fills the hut with white noise;
to air dark corners, old woman
slides her window open





The waterfall’s music begins usually in late October or early November and in late May or early June it stops; though in 1993 it ran all year.

So many years spent idly contemplating
The immense white layer on the mountains;
This winter, all of a sudden,
I see it for the first time as a snow-mountain.
-- Dogen (tr. Stephen Heine)

In Place 33

33

Snow seals heat within;
she steams white rice,
tea and veg to have with
scenes of falling white






The snow helps dampen road noise from nearby civilization. She sits, then gets up to muck about. Before long, thoughts creep in that leave her feeling defeated. "If in sitting one finds no distinctions, where do all these distinctions come from to crowd in as soon as I rise to pour tea?"

Snow besieges my plank door I crowd the stove at night
although this form exists it seems as if it doesn't
I have no idea where the months have gone
every time I turn around another year on earth is over
-- Han-Shan Te-Ching (tr. Red Pine)

In Place 32

 32

In a snow year, break trail
to brew tea and read,
or make nine bows as incense
drifts toward drafty walls






A hat, gloves and coat make a fine robe for morning service.

One who is drinking water knows well enough if it is cold or warm.
-- Huang Po (after Blofeld, tr.)

In Place 31

 31

She loves to hear rain
on leaves, on grass and stones;
when rain falls on desk and books
she does roof work






The hut, built from scraps, is approaching the end of its third decade and maintenance is on the increase. She muses that rain and work are both excellent ways to observe the universal as the particular and vice versa.

Not engaging in extensive deliberation,
When sowing the fields you must work diligently.
-- Dogen, Eihei Koroku 445 (tr. Leighton and Okamura)

In Place 30

30

Everything within reach,
including the broom:
spring cleaning is quickly done
in a room eight by ten






"Allow no dust to cling." Plenty of dust remains after nearsighted Old Woman sweeps.

When the old woman wants to read a book, she extends her arm; when she wants tea, she extends her arm. Pretentiousness? Contrivance? Of course! But the genuine is never absent; it's up to her to notice.

Sweeping away mist and clouds, the purity of the universe is revealed, As, together with the wooden man, we all enjoy a spring of great peace.
-- Zukui Jifu in Eminent Nuns, 144 (Beata Grant)

 

In Place 29

 29

From the end of this pasture
she looks back: if there were
suddenly no hut, there would still be
grass, trees, stones and stream





Pasture with dog, late May.

Everything here is exactly as it is.


The body and mind of the Buddha way is grass, trees, tiles and pebbles, as well as wind, rain, water and fire.
— Dogen (tr. Tanahashi)

In Place 28

28

The young-old monk, watcher
over infants and mad crones,
gets a late spring offering —
handful of vinca blossoms





Jizo once greeted visitors to the homestead, but lost his head more than once as water hoses were hauled around the garden. In his new location at the hut he is a hermit, but has never left off his practice. The stone behind him was raised from the dry creek bed the preceding summer.

Firmly based on steadiness, it can't be surpassed.
A shining window below the green pines --
jade palaces or vermilion towers can't compare with it.
-- Shitou, "Song of the Grass-Roof Hut" in Taishō shinshū daizōkyō (1924-33) reprinted in Hongzhi, Cultivating the Empty Field, 2000, tr. Leighton and Yi Wu

 

In Place 27

 27

Winds from the river by day
winds from mountains at night
sing to cottonwood branches:
cottonwood branches clack back






Though the old woman has a cot in the hut and naps there often, she has seldom slept in it overnight. But she does lie long abed in the afternoons, attending the rustling leaves or rattling twigs.


The dharma does not rise up alone—it can’t emerge without reliance on the world. If I take up the challenge of speaking I must surely borrow the light and the dark, the form and the emptiness of the mountains and hills and the great earth, the call of the magpies and the cries of the crows. The water flows and the flowers blossom, brilliantly preaching without ceasing. In this way there is no restraint.
— Ziyong Chengru in The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women, Caplow and Moon, 241

In Place 26

26

Dark of the year, her altar lacks
flowers: a moss covered oak branch
makes do; in spring
she finds a spray of quince





Flowering quince goes well with the red altar cloth and bowls, so she enjoys the three weeks or so that the blossoms may be available. Still, every offering is quite right.

One day Daowu and Yunyan were out walking with Yaoshan, who pointed at two trees with his finger. One was healthy and the other was withered up. He asked Daowu, "Which is better, the withered tree or the healthy tree?" Daowu answered, "The healthy one is better." Yaoshan said, "So everything around it becomes bright and colorful." Then he asked Yunyan the same question. Yunyan said, "The withered tree is better." Yaoshan said, "So everything around it looks gray and withered up." An attendant named Gao appeared suddenly. Yaoshan asked him the same question. Gao said, "The withered one is withered and the healthy one is healthy." Yaoshan turned to Daowu and Yunyan and said, "You were both wrong."
-- Soto Zen Ancestors in China, James Mitchell, 62

 

In Place 25

 25

Through the reed shade,
watch leaves fall in autumn,
branches rattle in winter, foliage
tremble in spring or droop in summer





This is part of her tea "ritual" in all seasons.

In the spring, cherry blossoms.
In the summer the cuckoo.
In autumn the moon.
In winter the snow, clear, cold.
— Dogen (after Tanahashi)

In Place 24

 24

Ritual averse, yet she has such:
brewing tea of blackberry leaves,
chard, kale, squash leaves, maple blooms;
pour, settle, sip, sit

 

 

"Yard tea" steeping.  Such tisanes are best dried and crumbled and then sealed away from air, 'tis true, but simply gathering the herbs and foliage and steeping them fresh works well enough for the purpose.

The Way does not have any particular form that can be cultivated, the Dharma does not have any particular form that can be validated. Just unrestricted no-recollection and no-thought, at all times everything is the Way.

— Wuzhu, Lidai fabao ji in The Teachings of Master Wuzhu 141 (Adamek)

In Place 23

23

Spring advances, sun returns;
grey skies give way
to flocks of round clouds;
worms, birds and mice are busy

 

 

View toward East Gate, in late May.

A mother mouse tunneled into the old woman’s mattress to give birth. Mrs. Mouse and her brood died one spring day as the old woman lay down for a nap. The old woman mourned more than she would have expected.

Were it not for the suffering of sentient beings, no need for compassion would arise.
-- John Daido Loori in The True Dharma Eye: Zen Master Dogen's Three Hundred Koans xxxii)

In Place 22

 22

A quiet fellow waits out
morning service, anxious
for his daily walk along
green country ways, reading sign







Shown here at age seventeen, this cairn terrier is mostly blind and deaf, but can find warm sunny spots and lives by scent. The old woman thinks of their walks as a kind of kinhin, or walking meditation.

On either side of the footpath rises a row of green pines.
Over the valley, the scent of a wild plum is wafted to me.
Each visit to this place yields me a fresh spiritual gain.
-- Ryokan (tr. Nobuyuki Yuasa, The Zen Poems of Ryokan 57)

In Place 21

21

The carpet comes in handy
for nine bows; with hands
uplifted, the old woman pauses,
thoughtlessly thoughtful of all






These bows are supposed to be prostrations from standing, but the old woman’s back and legs are beginning to fail her, so she now uses the railing of the cot as a grab bar to get to her knees and does her bows from there. This is sometimes accompanied by the grunts and groans of the elderly.

...we should know why we do prostrations. We do not do them to endear ourselves to somebody else. We do not do them for the Buddha. Such concepts are completely wrong. The Buddha is not a god of this world. We bow down to purify all situations from the past where we did not respect others.
-- Lama Gendyn Rinpoche

 

In Place 20

20

Mornings she repeats ancient texts
abjuring illusion, anger, fear;
speaks the names of
friends and others, ill or passed





Morning service at "Gogo-an" consists of Robe Chant, zazen, Heart Sutra, nine bows, Dedications (reading of the current Memorial List, reading of the current Well-Being List), Bodhisattva Vows, Refuges, six days a week. One can see from all the capitalization that there is certainly some risk of pietism, which she guards against warily. Heart Sutra is supposed to be chanted, but she’s not good at this and just reads it aloud.

Beings are numberless; I vow to free them.
Delusions are inexhaustible; I vow to end them.
Dharma gates are boundless; I vow to enter them.
Buddha’s way is unsurpassable; I vow to attain it.

-- Bodhisattva Vows

In Place 19

 19

Through her south window
she may watch the neighbors' herd
of bison; they gaze in as well
she counts them friends






The bison, she’s told, are really "beefalo." They are very impressive. The obvious equality of these beings with the old woman might be a clue to her question's answer.

If you are not caught up in the rules and ranks, there is no seeking.
-- Chao-Chou in Loori, The Heart of Being 51-52.

In Place 18

18

For study of old books,
soft light of rainy days
is good; the volcanic young man
helps with her homework





The hut is not off-grid; this is thanks to a long heavy-duty drop cord. The old woman has her steamer, tea maker, small heater, and a lamp. Much of her study consists in seeking out connections between talk of "enlightenment" and talk of the "precepts." For years her question has been: what does understanding reality necessarily have to do with compassion?

Bud­dhas don't keep precepts. And buddhas don't break precepts.
-- attr. Bodhidharma (tr. Red Pine)

 

In Place 17

17

The old woman has found
a young friend, molded from ashes
gathered from the slopes of a volcano;
he points to the earth, his witness






This Buddha statue is of the historic Shakyamuni (Gautama Buddha) and recalls the occasion of his great enlightenment. Pressed by Mara, the king of the delusion demons, to prove his enlightenment, he points to the earth and calls it to witness. Acquired from a merchant somewhere, somewhen, she found his rough vagueness of appearance answered to her own vagueness of aspiration and effort, while his uncompromising posture and gesture provided her with a "way in."

Q: What is the Way and how must it be followed?
A: What sort of THING do you suppose the Way to be, that you should wish to FOLLOW it?
-- Zen Teaching of Huang-Po 52 (tr. Blofeld)

 

In Place 16

 Preparing for a lack of shade,
the old woman dabs white paint
at the roof and rough-sawn walls
old wire fence makes an enclosure

Good paint is available at low prices (in five gallon cans) from the local recycler. The old woman has welded-wire fencing and tee posts left over from decades of farm projects. To build a little compound for the hut and its “raised” beds, she wraps fencing around a corner of the pasture. She gives the wire fencing a “rustic” look by inserting hazel prunings in the fencing vertically to a height above six feet. This is more practical than it looks, as it reduces the likelihood of the vegetables being grazed by deer. They are lovely to watch, but perhaps less so when partaking of one's kale.

Sitting, I meditate on emptiness
as fresh breezes fill the temple.
Words are inherently empty and yet
still I am fond of brush and ink.
My mind like ashes after the fire and yet
still I am tied to the world.
-- Miaohui (Grant, Daughters of Emptiness 121)

In Place 15

15

Rain comes, fogs settle in;
her ceiling does drip a little;
path grows muddy; to keep her footing
she throws flat stones in low spots

 

In summer she gathers stones — basalt, mostly — from the dry  creek bed and stores them for winter projects.

With the shade tree gone, the roof has been painted white; walls will be painted soon. It won't be as attractive as when the building was red, but Gogo-an would be too hot in the summer without its tree.

The fence is to keep deer (or potentially sheep) out of the small garden.

I always wanted to go to East Cliff,
more years than I can remember, until today
I just grabbed a vine and started up.
Halfway up wind and a heavy mist closed in,
and the narrow path tugged at my shirt:
it was hard to get on. The slickery
mud under the moss on the rocks
gave way, and I couldn’t keep going.
So here I stay, under this cinnamon tree,
white clouds for my pillow,
I’ll just take a nap.
— Han Shan (Cold Mountain, tr. Seaton )

 

In Place 14

14

Half householder still, she lives here
part time, and so makes tea and rice
as needed, washing dishes outdoors.
Beneath the altar: pantry

 

In use for more than a decade, her old steamer can cook many things, but is most in demand for rice (pre-seasoned with home-grown dried herbs, kept in a Mason jar underneath the altar) and vegetables (mostly beets, potatoes, kale, chard and zucchini, in season). The little coffeemaker is used to make what the old woman calls “yard” tea — seasonally available forage such as (deep breath) chicory, dandelions, nipplewort, narrow leaf plantain, crimson clover, deadnettle, cat’s ears, blackberry leaves, fir or spruce needles, money plant, Bigleaf maple flowers, wild lettuce, rosemary, dill, sage, and crop foliage such as kale, chard, beet greens, squash blossoms and leaves, pea and bean foliage, corn silk, and the like. There are two bowls that also serve as cups, a few utensils, a knife, and a cutting board. Water is brought from the homestead well in a half gallon bottle.

Do not arouse disdainful mind when you prepare a broth of wild grasses; do not arouse joyful mind when you prepare a fine cream soup. Where there is no discrimination, how can there be distaste?
— Dogen (tr. Tanahashi)

 

In Place 13

13

The old woman finds a bench difficult,
more so every day; one last sit
before she gives it up —tap bell, groan, rise —
lotus, half lotus? Ha!




When she first began sitting at the hut, use of the seiza or kneeling bench was easy for the old woman; but it became increasingly painful for her; here we see it being used for the last time and it has since been replaced by a chair. All things come to an end, as will the use of the hut, as will this old woman’s life. The book on the floor is an edition of some of Ryokan’s poetry.

Falling blossoms.
Blossoms in bloom are also
falling blossoms.
— Ryokan  (tr. Tanahashi)